More Than Averagely Insane
by RatchetAndScratch
Summary: Stiles centric fic set after season 3b. Even though the Nogitsune has been defeated, he is still suffering from life threatening nightmares. Strange things start happening to him and he is led to question his own sanity and look further into what the Nogitsune has left behind. Possibly light Stydia but no smut here I'm afraid!
1. Chapter 1

**This is the first fic I've published guys so please be nice! Saying that, I'd love to hear what you think so if you could spare a couple of moments to review that would be awesome! I'm english so if I've got any americanisms wrong - I'M SO SORRY. I promise I tried. Unfortunately, I don't own any part of Teen Wolf, but if I did, I would probably put them through just as much pain as Jeff did.**

Stiles blankly stared down the pitch of the Lacrosse field. Coach was shouting as normal but he wasn't really listening, it was easier to drown out the noise than bother to pay attention. The sun shone down brightly and it made his armour feel heavy on his shoulders, too warm and uncomfortable for his liking. It had no use being warm in October, he could feel the cold sweat trickling slowly down the centre of his back along his spine and down into his shorts. Not able to stop himself, he shivered and itched irritably at his waist band.

"Problem, Stiles?" Coach's voice boomed right back into full volume as he realised he was standing at the front of the queue and was supposed to be attempting to score a goal. He continued to stand almost motionless, what was it about his armour? It was so uncomfortable it made him feel like it was on fire. Was it on fire? Surely it would hurt more if he was on fire? Unless his nerves had already fried… In a sudden spasm of movement, he furiously brushed down his shoulders, arms and legs flailing, totally uncoordinated.

"Stiles!" Coach's voice boomed again. "What the hell are you doing? I don't care if you've got fleas but, Jesus Christ boy, this is Econ!"

Calming quickly, Stiles blinked and looked around him. He was in Coach's econ class and all of the other students were staring at him with a mixture of confusion and barely supressed laughter. His skin felt cold and clammy, definitely not on fire but this was not nearly as reassuring as it should have been. He was standing before he knew it and forced his legs to hold him up, panic was rising in his chest and he had no idea why. The world around him started to spin as his breathing sped up uncontrollably, _was it always so hot in here?_ It felt like he was sat in a steam room as his lungs wheezed instead of filling with pure cold air.

"I'm," breath. "Gonna," breath. "Go." He struggled out of his mouth before grabbing his bag and half running, half stumbling out of the class room. He could hear coach shouting something about finals after him but it didn't register in his brain. Stiles limbs were moving like he was drunk but his mind was whirring at over speed. The last time anything like this had happened was when the Nogitsune had been trying to gain control of him. _It's dead. _He thought as loudly as he could into his head as his body lurched further down the halls. _We killed it. I saw it die. I'm not possessed. I'm fine. This isn't happening, I'm dreaming. How do I know if I'm dreaming?_

Stiles burst out of the double doors and outside into the weak sun. He felt sick in his stomach and the sensation started to rise up into his throat. It would be so much easier if he could just breathe normally! He stumbled over his own feet at the top of the stairs and tumbled down all five concrete steps of agony until he lay on his back at the bottom. The sickness was still rising. His body ached all over but the urge to vomit was his top priority, it was building up like water pressure behind a dam during a storm. Weakly rolling over onto his side, he closed his eyes as his stomach convulsed and sent his lunch straight out of his mouth and onto the floor. He fought for breath between each convulsion, lungs now burning as much as his throat. _This is exhausting. _Despite the sweat now pouring off his head and down his neck, he still felt like there was a chill on his skin.

Exhausted and in pain, Stiles lay as still as he could until his breathing started to slow down and go back to normal. As he stared uselessly up at the sky, he noticed how grey it was, clouds completely covering all patches of blue. Hadn't it been sunny earlier? Or had that been in the Lacrosse pitch dream? Was this a dream? _How can I tell if I'm awake? _The thought was quickly filled by a surge of panic that left his limbs feeling full of enough energy to stand up. _How can I tell if I'm dreaming? _Desperately, Stiles searched for signs of anything abnormal. He could see his Jeep in the parking lot, he could see the other students in their classes through the widows behaving like normal, the trees rustled calmly in the afternoon breeze, he even had the right amount of fingers on his hands. Slowly, he let his breath out and sat down at the top of the steps he had fallen down earlier. He wasn't in any danger, surely Scott and Lydia would have found him by now if he was? _I'm okay, I'm just ill, that's all, _he reassured himself. He sighed and shook his head before burying it in his hands. Hadn't there been a time where he hadn't had to question his own sanity? Without meaning to, he thought back to the day of his MRI scan, before the Nogisune had taken over that was. The sadness and overwhelming feeling of desolation that day had been indescribably crushing. What if he did really have Frontotemporal Dementia like his Mom? What if the Nogitsune hadn't been changing the results of the scan? The possibility was enough to set off an entire chain of terrifying possibilities, the disease itself was genetic and the image of eventually not being able to even remember who any of his friends and family were was something he didn't think he could bare. How would his Dad cope loosing Mom and him to the same cruel disease? How would he survive when he was all by himself? And what about Scott and his pack? Losing his first love and his best friend so close together, how was that fair?

_Breathe, Stiles. _He told himself as she shoulders threatened to shake with sobs. _Breathe … _Lifting his head from his hands, he stared aimlessly ahead of him, contemplating how much his eyes were stinging. Sure, he should probably go home but that felt like so much effort when his body felt this battered and his Jeep was just so _far_ away. He was interrupted from his trance by his phone buzzing in his pocket. Dimly, he pulled it out and stared at the screen. _Oh good, I can read._

UNKNOWN NUMBER: If I drink, I die. If I eat, I'm fine. What am I?

The bottom dropped out of his stomach in a heartbeat and Stiles whimpered out loud before he could stop himself. As much as he knew he should, he could not tear his eyes away from the small screen. He visibly jumped as it buzzed again.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: If I drink, I die. If I eat, I'm fine. What am I?

"I don't know." Stiles voice came out as barely more than a whisper. If this was Scott or Derek or someone was joking with him, it wasn't funny. The fear was almost enough to make him sick again.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: What am I, Stiles?

His heart rate spiked higher as dread paralysed his body with terror. Not only did they know his name, he also knew the answer. Should he say it aloud? His phone buzzed showing the same message as before, his eyes were glued to the screen as it shook in his unstable hands.

"Fire."

Ahead of him, something burst into deadly heat. The terrified teen snapped his head up to face the danger, knuckles now white as he clutched his phone. Where there had previously been a pool of his own stomach contents was now a blazing fire. Verging on hysteria, he tried to leap up to move out the way but try as he might, he could not move. The flames grew and started to eat their way up the stairs closer to him. Stiles flung his head from side to side desperately, trying to see if anyone had noticed the oncoming tide of disaster, but the students were all still studying and his Jeep was still too far away and Scott, Lydia and Derek were nowhere in sight. Breathing out of his mouth with desperation, Stiles screamed, voice hoarse as he struggled in vain against whatever was holding him glued to the spot.

The fire was closer, so close, he could feel it heating his clothes to the point of burning and his skin to the verge of pain. Stiles stared up into the dancing flames and screamed hysterically; there was nothing more he could do. Wasn't Lydia supposed to trying to find him right now? That's what she was good at, finding … bodies. He screamed with all his breath as the fire grew taller even though his voice had long since gone and watched in helpless horror as the blaze began to morph into the vague shape of something human.

"It's a dream, Stiles!" He shouted at himself. "This is all a dream!" The shadow of the man in the flames started to reach out towards him. If this was a dream, it sure as hell felt real. His shoes were almost melting around his toes, plastic bending, burning, melting into his skin and a whole new level of agony. "Wake up, Stiles! Wake up, Stiles! WAKE UP!"

* * *

Someone had their arms around his chest. He started fighting it even as he screamed hysterically, kicking out as he found he could move his arms and legs. Tears were streaming down his face uncontrollably, blinding him. The panic and sheer terror he felt seemed impossible to ease, it felt like his insides were ablaze and his skin was cold as ice as it tried to dowse the flames. _Where am I? Where's the fire? Who's holding me? Holding me?_ Someone was holding him? Stiles topped fighting as he felt the reassuringly warm body holding him protectively close.

"Shh Stiles, it's okay." Lydia's voice cooed in his ear. "You were dreaming, Stiles. You're safe now, you're safe."

Moving as fragile as a child might, he reached up and held onto the arms that were wrapped around him and let his breathing calm before letting himself start to take note of his surroundings. His Dad was hovering on the entrance to his room, pain etched deeply into his face. Stiles' heart twisted in guilt, _this is all my fault_. The man was still in uniform, and swaying slightly as if he'd had a glass or two of whiskey after his shift. _I'm not dreaming._ The relief eased him down to the bones as Lydia continued to hush him like he was a small child.

"It's okay, Stiles. I'm gonna stay and make sure you're safe. I'm not leaving. You're safe with me, I'm not going anywhere." Lydia's voice was soft and soothing and despite his fear and unease, he found himself slipping into an exhausted and thankfully, dreamless sleep.

Neither Lydia or Sheriff Stilinski mentioned the fact that Stiles shoes by his bedside were a hunk of misshapen plastic, or that Lydia usually found bodies rather than people. Instead, grateful for the help, he nodded his head at her and fell asleep in the chair he had pulled up outside his son's bedroom.


	2. Chapter 2

**I got a bit carried away with this chapter and as a result, it is much longer than I was expecting ... Enjoy! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in Teen Wolf (sadly) and all flashbacks are created with absolute respect for the original (and amazing) screen writers and actors.**

Waking up next to Lydia was an odd but not unpleasant experience. Stiles found himself trying to watch her sleep even though she had one arm protectively draped around him; it was peaceful. Trying to move as little as possible, he examined the face that he's had memorised since kindergarten. She looked different when she was sleeping. It was difficult to put a finger on exactly what, but they had all been through so much lately and it had marked them all in different ways. Maybe when her eyes were closed it was much easier to imagine that she lived a life as beautiful as her face, rather than when she was awake, and you could see the way that she was concerned and slightly distracted more often than she was smiling. Scott was much the same; those puppy dog eyes that he had wooed Allison with, had lost the bright spark that they had once shone with. All of the enthusiasm he had once thrown into Lacrosse had all but dwindled out and died, there was no passion anymore; he was just doing it because he felt he had to. Issac and Argent were not even in Beacon Hills anymore and as for Derek… Well, Derek was being Derek; they had no idea where he was. No matter how many times they had called or tried to find him, there was no sign of him or Peter. And then there was him. _Stiles Stilinski – the fantastic, wonderful, and supportive friend. _He snorted at in disgust at himself. He was the one who had been possessed by an evil Nogitsune fox that wreaked havoc on everyone that he loved and as a direct consequence, people had died. Not just Allison and Aiden, all the people at the hospital, the police officers he had known since he'd first been able to wonder into the station and try and investigate himself … he'd nearly killed Coach, he'd planted fake bombs at the school as well as nearly killing both Scott's Mom and Dad. Everyone had died horribly and it was all his fault. If only he'd been stronger and not let the Nogitsune in. If only he'd fought harder. If only he'd somehow managed to close the door that was ajar in his brain. How could any of them even look at him after all that he'd done?

Stiles stared at Lydia, his first and longest, unrequited love and wished more than anything he knew what was going on in her pretty little head. What was it like for her to lose control of her body and end up in places that she never wanted to go just so that she could discover another bloody corpse? Even though she must have been terrified, the red head had somehow managed to keep her cool enough to be able to rationalise the situation and then keep going. Not only was she beautiful and super intelligent, she also had the ability to use her initiative in even the most horrifying of situations. His chest swelled with something that was very similar to pride. The teen shifted round slowly a little more so that he was facing her, now not only was he more able to observe her perfection, he also had the added benefit or not horribly straining his neck. Despite the fact that she had been here trying to make sure that he was safe, whist doing so, she had fallen asleep herself. Her head was propped up on one arm that she had snaked under one of his pillows, but her head lolled back, mouth hanging slightly open. She still looked stunning, although she'd have tried to kill him if she knew.

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, they were so close on his single bed and God, did she smell good. He'd never woken up next to anyone, he was sure as hell Scott didn't count on all of numerous occasions he'd fallen asleep in the chair. For a second, he let himself believe that Lydia actually, really, cared for him – in more than a friend way. What did she think of him? Surely he wasn't still the cute, little, helpless, nerdy boy she'd always considered him?

Something strange started to happen before Stiles could stop it. At first, he could not put his imaginary finger on what it was. He was still in his room, he was still in his bed, and still as peaceful as he had been… it was something subtle that has shifted. After being possessed, subtle shifts in the normal balance of his brain were something that he was on high alert to notice. But this did not feel sinister… just, different. Trying not to think about it, Stiles opened his eyes. To begin with, he was totally perplexed by what he saw – had someone put a mirror in front of him for a joke? Slowly, still half asleep himself, realisation dawned. Somehow, having no idea how it had happened, he was watching his own face through Lydia's eyes. Shock was the first thing that hit him and the only thing that kept him still. If it was disconcerting looking at his own face, it was even more confusing that his mind had jumped ship into a beautiful girl's body. He tried to make either body move but failed miserably. What was happening? Surely this was just another crazy dream? He could not move to look and see if he had any extra fingers so what else was there to help? The posters on his walls were too far away for him to be able to read them but even without any of the normal signs to guide them, this did not feel like a dream. Every sensation felt entirely real, totally physical from the top of Lydia's auburn head to the bottom of her dainty toes. He could actually _feel _the fact that she was sleeping. So what did this mean? How was he supposed to get back? How could his body even survive without his consciousness in it? Stiles knew that he should be panicking, totally freaking out at the bizarre situation that he had found himself in, but he couldn't. It was almost as of Lydia's usual sense of prevailing calm was infecting him, keeping him sane like an anchor.

_Okay, Stiles, _he thought to himself. _Think about this logically. If I can work out how I got here, surely I can work out how to get back? _He laughed at himself and his own face asleep, but staring back at him. _And the Nobel Prize goes to… _It was like an equation in Math, What you did to one side of the problem, you had to do to the other. _But it's not a noble prize, idiot. _He corrected himself remembering a conversation he'd had with Lydia. _There is no Nobel Prize for Math; it's a Fields Medal. _The memory of Lydia whizzing through a Math problem at the same time as having a conversation without ever pausing for thought or breath, pinged up in front of his – or her, or whatever – eyes, as vivid as if it were yesterday. He smiled, not that it showed on his face, that he was watching, distracted from his original goal and let his mind drift back to other memories they shared.

_"Try and slow your breathing!" Lydia urged from her knees in the locker room._

_Stiles watched himself in a pile as he struggled to spit out the words. "I can't. I can't."_

_He looked paniced and scared and small. The memory was filled with worry and sisterly concern as Lydia held his face in her hands. "Shh, shh, Stiles, look at me. Shh… look at me. Shh, Stiles." And then suddenly, his lips were on hers and he felt himself freeze in shock against her. Sparks rushed through him – or was it her? – as she held him close. The kiss dominated his every thought, his every sensation in his body, as it was all drowned out by the awareness of the pressure of their lips pressing together. Was it him or her that didn't want to pull away? As they parted, slowly, there was a reluctance to open their eyes and look at each other, as if the two of them were just as shocked by the way their kiss had affected them._

_Stiles' breath came out ragged, but much slower – in control. "How, did you do that?" His face was full of hope that was barely and badly suppressed beneath the surface. It should have been enough to make him cringe but the memory was so precious to him. Who's eyes was he looking through? There was no way that he could ever look that composed after the panic attack and the emotional shock he'd just suffered._

_He noticed Lydia hesitate, as for the first time he got an idea of how fast her mind was whirring behind her beautiful green eyes. "I, err … read somewhere that," she paused. "Holding your breath can stop a panic attack." She paused again as Stiles saw as much as felt this time, her mind speed through all of the possibilities of what to say next. If only he could keep up with her thoughts… "When I kissed you, err, you held your breath."_

_He felt himself nod as much as he watched it from her eyes. "I did."_

_Her voice was so hushed as she worked out; "yeah, you did."_

_Stiles' face was a torment of mixed emotions. At the time, he had been sure that he'd kept it concealed a little better, but through Lydia's eyes, he saw the hope being crushed at the same time as he was happy, in shock and thankful all at the same time. He heard himself speak the most sincere words he could think of. "Thanks. That was really smart."_

_And then, just like that, the moment was broken. Lydia was back to trying to pretend that she wasn't as intelligent as she was and awkwardly fiddled with her hands, not sure how to accept a compliment about her brain rather than her looks. "I just, umm, I just read it somewhere." She paused again as she thought. Stiles almost thought he caught the uncertainty in her mind but it was gone as quick as it had come. "And if I was really smart, I would tell you to sign up for a few sessions with the guidance counsellor."_

Stiles smiled – did this mean she was dreaming about him? It was a thought that made him feel a bit strange; all warm and fuzzy somewhere in his disembodied chest. This was all so surreal, and a part of him felt bad about his total invasion of her privacy but he could not help but be curious. How did this amazing girl even look at him after what he had done when he was not… himself? He'd done horrible things and Stiles felt his stomach drop as he felt himself start to get pulled into a memory he had absolutely no desire to relive. Hadn't he seen it enough times in his own head as he'd fought, tooth and nail to prevent it happening to start with? But what was the desperate and hopeless mind of a seventeen year old Junior, against an ancient, powerful and vengeful spirit? It was hard not to blame himself when it was his face that had caused so much chaos and destruction. The memory he was dreading spun up in front of him in a whirlwind of colours and emotions of Lydia's that this time, he could feel. The fear that coursed through their veins made him feel weak and the terror was enough to make him feel sick.

_I made her feel like this? _Stiles managed to think in disgust before the memory totally engulfed him.

_The bars were cold against her face as she stared hopelessly out into the concrete circle that was pretending to be a way out. Her heart was hammering; there was no escape. She could hear all of the souls that had once lived here, and the harrowing screams of them as they were brutally murdered. They were screaming in pain and absolute, sheer terror and all Lydia could do was try and concentrate on the feeling of the cold bars on her face – they were real, this was the present._

_"I'm not telling you anything!" She shouted, unable to prevent the panic sounding in her voice._

_Stiles sounded deep, gravelly, and so sinister it made her hair stand up on end. "You don't have to." It wasn't Stiles. It may have looked like him, but the darkness in his eyes told another story. He was so close, so horrifyingly close she could have reached out and touched him. "You'll be screaming."_

_His voice was like a trigger going off in her brain. All of the fear and horror she had been fighting to keep under control was lifted and she screamed with all of the air in her lungs. It wasn't enough to fend off the terror. She ran past him and down to the next door, feet clacking loudly on the concrete in her heels. Surely, this was an escape? Surely, not all of the exits were locked? Lydia braced herself on the walls as she continued down the stairs. "They'll find me," she breathed, "please let them find me." Two more steps and she was at the gate. Desperately, she wrapped her hands around it and pushed. It was locked. In her anger and frustration, she shook the bars that were holding her captive, just as they had done to others decades before. The Nogitsune was right behind her; she could hear it._

_"You think so?" He sat down on one of the stairs and she could feel his empty eyes boring into her back. "I myself, was kinda wondering what they're doing right now." His voice sounded like it belonged to someone who was already dead. "What useless lead they're chasing. I wonder, maybe, if some of them have bigger problems to deal with right now." Lydia rested her head against the metal and tried not to listen. "Are they really spending every minute looking for you?" He made it sound like her hope was stupid, as he continued to stare alarmingly at her. "Or," he paused as she heard him move slightly, "are they waiting for nightfall? Focused on some hopeless gesture to pass the time?"_

_Lydia had to try to escape. She couldn't stay here. But she was totally defenseless with no means of saving herself. She clung on to the cold bars as if her life depended on it – maybe it did. If she was a werewolf she could have used her strength to break free… but she wasn't she was a Banshee, and she was hopelessly stuck. Using the gate to support herself, she turned round slowly to face the horrifying creature that had stolen and twisted her friend's face. She stared up at him, hoping for something to indicate what exactly it was hoping to achieve, she knew Stiles' face so well, but none of his expressions were mirrored here and all she saw was emptiness. "What do you want?" The words came out as a whisper she knew she would most probably regret._

_"More." The single word sounded as final as a gunshot. He stood, towering over her as he slowly, taking his time to draw out her fear, started to make his way down the stairs towards her._

_Sounding calmer than she felt, she asked quietly, "More of what?"_

_He launched into explanation. "The Trickster stories," He was taking pleasure, strength from prolonging her mental torture. "Are all about food, Lydia." She did not like the way his lips formed around her name. Another step closer. "Coyote, Raven, Fox, they're all hungry." One more step. Two steps. Lydia felt her breath start to catch in her throat. "I'm the same, I just crave something a little different."_

_She looked away. It was unbearable watching what had once been her friend hell bent on causing chaos and pain. And all the while, he was closing the space between them, one, single, slow, step at a time. Her breath started to speed up as her body was filled with adrenaline, freezing her to the spot. Even if she could have moved, where could she have gone?_

_"I need what you feel." The voice signalled he was right behind her and she pressed herself as close to the metal bars in response, trying to put as much space between void Stiles and her as possible. Her eyes bulged, her skin crawled and she shrieked as he carefully combed her hair behind her ear with his fingertips. Lydia screwed her eyes shut and tried to internalise her emotions as he raised his lips to her ear. She could feel his cold, dead, breath before she felt him press his lips to her cheek as he began dragging them passionlessly up to her ear. "And I'm insatiable." The strawberry blonde opened her mouth in a silent scream._

Stiles screwed his eyes shut and threw himself as far away from the memory as he could. He felt sick having watched himself torturing Lydia like that, reliving it with her in all of its gory detail. It did not matter knowing that it wasn't him, that the Nogitsune had formed his shape and run riot with it. He could not help but feel responsible for it's chaos. Like a nightmare, the more Stiles tried to pull away from the memory, the more it pulled him back. What was almost worse, was that he could _feel_ the sadistic pleasure of the fox in his body as it slowly dragged it's lips up to Lydia's ear and whispered quiet horrors to fuel her screams as if it was his own desire. He could _feel _the twisted joy it took in her mental pain and just how much it craved more. It wanted to feel her struggle against him as he pushed her up against the bars and Stiles could almost feel its dark needs pumping through his veins like poison._ Chaos and pain. _The Junior shook his head, or Lydia's, it was all so confusing, as the memory morphed into imaginary nightmarish life.

The strawberry blonde had tears pouring down her face, smudging her makeup into inky black rivers down her cheeks, the only grace being that it made her green eyes even greener. She was holding onto the bars for dear life, as if they were preventing her from drowning in a stormy sea. Void Stiles' presence seemed to grow, like a black cloud that seeped out of his very pours. It was contaminating her with its poison, filling her lungs as she raggedly gasped in the fumes.

"LOOK AT ME WHEN I'M TALKING TO YOU!" The fox's voice boomed, shouted, commanded, words crackling out of his mouth like black lightening. He ruined everything he touched.

_Not Lydia,_ Stiles thought inside her dream. She was slowly turning round to face him, a man that more of a massive elemental force than he was human. Was this what it really looked like? It was as if all of the darkness it held on the inside was cloaking him in black as terrifying as the power it held. _Don't look at him, Lydia! _He thought at her. _Come back to me, Lydia! _His first love stopped in her tracks as if she could hear him. Could she?

Stiles took a deep breath and quickly constructed an idea he hoped could bring her back from her nightmare. _Listen to me, Lydia. It's me, I'm here with you, and you're safe. I'm here to keep you safe. _The Nogitsune started shouting again but Stiles did his best to drown it out like a bad radio station. _He's not real, Lydia. None of this is real. Imagine bright light, the sun after a storm, a beautiful day at the beach. Make it drown out the dark, Lydia. Come back to me, Lydia. I'm here to keep you safe. _For a moment, it looked like Lydia was going to resist him and turn to stare at the monster behind her. The force of the fox's sheer will was immense, as vast and as powerful as the Atlantic Ocean, it threatened to overcome her with it furiousity. She was locked in a battle with her own morbid curiousity, and the hopeless desire to be saved, but she was strong, and Stiles jumped as he felt, as much as saw, her brilliant mind surge into semi-conscious life. This was her mind and she was a sure as hell going to take back control if it. Using the initial idea that Stiles had supplied her with, he watched in awe as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. With no warning, she whirled around to face the dark, barely human storm cloud that was the Nogitsune; and glared at it with enough fury that it made Stiles' mind take a mental step back.

"Get." Her voice took on a total different quality to any he had ever heard her use before. It took on the strength of a hundred voices or more, all joining together into a chant so loud that it boomed and echoed, resonating with pain and combined power. How was that possible? All those voices that tortured Lydia every single day, were they finally joining her now in her time of need? The light he had urged her to use against the Nogitsune's dark, started to bloom out of her very skin, like an aura. "Out." The light burned brighter; like magnesium over a flame – almost too brightly to look at directly. "Of." She took a step forward, throwing the light closer to the fox as she continued to burn with unrelenting intensity. It took a step back as it's darkness started to be overcome. "My." Stiles had to look away. The entire concrete corridor was filled with light brighter than he had ever seen. Even from the corner of his mental eye, it burned his pupils. Lydia was a brilliant ray of hot, morning sunlight and the Nogitsune paled in comparison. It had been forced back as Lydia's light started to literally dissolve the setting that her nightmare had clung to, even as it continued to screech it's hopeless commands. "MIND!" The last word was commanded and it echoed loudly with the authority of the hundreds of tortured souls that stood behind her, and using the tight space of the disintegrating corridor to grow and overwhelm her opposition. Her voice, _the _voice, was all that he could hear; it buzzed through every frequency his human ears could pick up. The light that surrounded her, somehow grew to a degree, Stiles was sure should have not been visible to the naked eye. Was this the power of the Banshee? The light burned with Lydia's solid and resolute will, searching out everything in her mind that was not hers, cleansing it of anything alien. The shadow of the fox faded into nothing and Stiles found himself smiling. His smile faltered as the light did not stop; it was now seeking out someone far more craftily hidden. Wrapped in memories and emotions, Stiles started to feel hot as his friend's mental eyes got ever closer to his consciousness. How had he even hidden himself to start with? He had to get out. It was like a Math equation wasn't it? Hadn't he worked that out before? How had he got here again? It all seemed so long ago. He'd been lying on his bed watching how peaceful and young she looked while she was asleep, and then he'd wondered what she really thought of him. Really considered it with all of his brain power. How did you even go about reversing that? The heat of Lydia's mental fire was growing hotter, hot enough to burn.

_When is a door not a door?_ The memory was his own, not the Nogitsune's, it was from the dream he's had with all of his class doing sign language. The answer was his way back. It was the whole reason this entire mess had started in the first place. What Deaton said? When they had been in the ice baths, trying to find their parents about the person that had to bring them back?

_'But it's not just someone to hold you under. It needs to be someone who can pull you back; someone who has a strong connection to you, kind of like an emotional tether.' _Was that why he'd somehow managed to stumble awkwardly into Lydia's sleeping thoughts? '_A door has been left ajar in your minds…' _All of the pieces started fall together. _When is a door not a door? When it's ajar. _If the door in his mind was still ajar, couldn't he simply just go back? Couldn't he just slip through the door silently back into his own body? How could he even find the door? _Think, Stiles, Think! _He urged at himself. It was so very hot in here, it made his lungs feel like they were tight and were struggling to pull in air. What made Stiles, Stiles? Was it Scott, always bringing him back from the edge? Or was it his quick, snarky remarks in the face of adversity? Or maybe it was his total refusal to give up on any of his friends, no matter what their problem? Everything was so hot as the memories that he had seen in Lydia's mind were slowly melted away by the heat of her will, her light trying to cleanse away his grey smudge on her otherwise perfect brain. The brighter the light, the more she was able to see the fuzzy shadow where he was accidentally hidden. _Come on, Stiles! _But his mind thought of nothing, he'd searched and drawn a blank.

He'd run out of time. 


End file.
